


Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by Draycevixen



Category: H.M.S. Pinafore - Sullivan/Gilbert, Life on Mars (UK), Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Ballard of Lucy Jordan (songs)
Genre: Christmas, Community: martianholiday, Crack, Crossover, F/F, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam/Gene and some others.</p><p>Written for Fawsley, for the Martian Holiday exchange, 2008.</p><p>Her prompt was: <i>It won't be all snow and sleigh bells and a puppy in your stocking come the morning, so you can forget about that for a start.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope is the Thing with Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fawsley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawsley/gifts).



.

Sam knew he was a fucking idiot. He had actually begun to believe that things might turn out differently for him this year. _A. fucking. Idiot._ he repeated to himself, mentally inserting the italics and the full stops for emphasis. There was one thing he should have been absolutely sure would remain immutable fact despite his unprecedented relocation through time and space. Earlier that afternoon, Gene had phrased it rather succinctly:

"Give over, Tyler. You're not five. It won't be all snow and sleigh bells and a puppy in your stocking come the morning, so you can forget about that for a start."

And Sam's hopes had been dashed again. Christmas. _Bloody Christmas_. A time of good will to all men... who weren't Sam Tyler.

Sam stared into the bottom of his pint. A week ago, Gene had told him that the Missus had finally had enough and left him and then had proceeded to get drunk off his arse. So drunk, that Gene hadn't even protested when Sam had loaded him into the Cortina and driven it back to his flat. He'd managed to keep Gene on his feet long enough to get him inside and to guide him down on to Sam's bed. Gene had then reared up, kissed Sam sloppily and promptly passed out. Sam had spent the rest of the night wide awake watching Gene snore. Predictably, the next morning it was like nothing had happened between them. But it had been enough to make Sam start to hope that this Christmas might finally be different, that it might be the start of something. That hope had only grown in the last week when a drunken Gene had kissed him several times although Gene had never acknowledged it when sober. _Hope_.

 

It was Christmas Eve and Sam had walked in to CID and found himself oddly cheered by the home made decorations of titillating paper chains carefully constructed by Chris out of Page Three girls. He'd stunned Chris by congratulating him on his work while grinning inanely at him. That's what hope and a cunning plan could do for a person's mood. Sam was going to casually ask Gene around to his for Christmas as Gene didn't have anyone to make him dinner. Then he was going to get Gene drunk and see what developed.

“ _For I'm called Little Buttercup -- dear Little Buttercup,  
Though I could never tell why,  
But still I'm called Buttercup -- poor little Buttercup,  
Sweet Little Buttercup I!_"

Sam whirled around to see Ray with long blonde braids on his head, standing in the middle of his desk singing opera in a falsetto voice. Incredibly, no one else in CID was even looking at him.

“What the hell d'you think you're doing Carling?”

“Wha?”

Sam blinked and saw Ray rousing himself from what had obviously been a nap face down on his desk.

“Nothing.”

Sam had taken a few deep breaths and moved on. After all, on the scale of things he had been imagining, Ray singing Gilbert and Sullivan was nothing to get too excited about. He'd find Annie. She was always so rational about things and it never failed to soothe his nerves.

When he'd asked for her at the desk he'd been told that Annie was working in _Lost and Found_. When he'd thrown open the door, he'd been stunned by the sight of Annie lying on her back in the middle of the table, skirt up around her waist, her blouse gaping open and a very enthusiastic Phyllis with her head buried between Annie's thighs. They were too far gone to even notice him. Sam just stood there for a moment, wondering if he should say something about “inappropriate behaviour” before slowly backing out of the room and quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Is Phyllis in there?”

Sam turned quickly to put his back to the door.

“I think she's in the middle of something right now Guv, can't it wait until later?”

“No, I need to give her some money.”

Gene threw open the door and Sam turned, ready to give the women his support. The table was covered in a pile of brightly wrapped presents and Phyllis and Annie, both fully clothed, were wrapping even more.

“We buy toys for the orphanage.” Gene walked across the room and handed some money to Phyllis.

“What about you Boss?”

Phyllis stared at him and Sam dug into his pockets and silently handed over a few quid.

“You all right Tyler?”

“I dunno Guv. I _really_ dunno.”

Gene had surprised him then by taking him to get a cup of tea in the canteen, even guiding him there with a light touch on his arm and Sam's hope had grew further. In a moment of weakness he'd even made the mistake of telling Gene about the type of Christmas he'd always dreamed about having... and that's when Gene had laughed at him and told him to act his age. After that, he was too depressed to ask Gene over to his flat for Christmas dinner.

“I've got some things to do.” Gene rose to his feet. “I'll see you later at the pub.”

Sam had finished his tea and been ambling back to CID when he'd seen them.

“Chris, who are your friends?” Sam walked a slow circle around the three men who had been following Chris down the corridor. “These are the best costumes I've ever seen, you really look like them.”

“Boss?”

Sam ran a hand down the sleeve of one of the men.

“Feels like expensive material. Did you rent them?”

All four men were staring at him like he'd just grown a second head.

“These are the Cardinals Ximénez, Biggles and Fang.” Chris said very slowly and loudly. Sam knew he was in trouble if _Chris_ was talking to him like he was a div. “They came in to report a burglary at the local seminary, including a bunch of soft furnishings, cushions and the like, several comfy chairs and, oddly enough—”

“A dish rack.”

“How'd you know that Boss?”

“Lucky guess Chris, lucky guess.”

Shortly after that, Sam had told Phyllis he was going to the pub if anyone needed him.

 

So he was in the pub. On his fourth pint. On an empty stomach. He'd have been happier if the Cardinals hadn't arrived an hour ago and taken a table nearby. They had already drunk a couple of bottles of wine with ruthless efficiency and appeared to be studying him and taking notes.

Staring deeply into his beer again, the first Sam knew of Gene's arrival was when another pint was plonked down on the table at his elbow.

“Happy Christmas, Sam.”

Well it wasn't quite what Sam had been hoping for from Gene, but another pint did seem like a very good idea.

“Thanks, Guv.”

“Seeing how it's Christmas Eve and all, there's going to be some entertainment tonight. Nelson's got some of the local singers in.”

“S'nice.”

Sam had noticed the little make shift stage when he'd come in but been too miserable to think about it. As he looked again in that direction, a very familiar looking woman walked up and adjusted the mike.

“Christ Guv, that's Marianne Faithfull.”

“You're close Sam. Her name's Mary Faith, she's married to the bloke who owns Lee Street chippy.”

“Mary” nodded at a man seated at a piano and then she started to sing as the room fell silent.

“ _The morning sun touched lightly, on the eyes of Sammy Tyler  
In a grey and shabby bedsit, in a grey industrial town  
As he lay there 'neath the covers dreaming of a green eyed lover  
Till the test card turned to orange and the room went spinning round _

_At the age of thirty-seven, he realized he'd never  
Ride through Paris in a Cortina with the warm wind in his hair  
So he let the mobile keep ringing and he sat there softly singing  
Little T.Rex songs he'd memorized in his absent Daddy's chair—_”

Sam jumped to his feet, knocking his chair loudly to the floor and stopping the performance in the process.

“Why's she singing about me Guv? That's Faithfull. That's _The Ballard of Lucy Jordan_ only she's singing it about me. What's going on—”

Sam's words cut off as Gene grabbed him roughly by the arm and frogmarched him out of the pub. Gene unlocked the door to the Cortina and practically threw him inside, before walking around and sliding behind the driver's wheel.

“You keep on like that Sam and they'll bloody lock you up.”

“I tell you Guv, she's—”

“Shut it Tyler. Not one more word. There's poor Mary doing a cracking version of “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” and you had to bloody... I'm taking you home with me tonight, to keep an eye on you. No arguments.”

Sam didn't argue.

 

When he woke up the next morning, Sam found himself tucked into the most hideously patterned flowered sheets he'd ever seen. The fact that the sheets were clean and that the bed was a lot more comfortable than the one in his bedsit drove him to close his eyes again and just enjoy the feeling, a shit-eating grin sliding over his face as he remembered the night before.

 

Gene had guided him up the stairs to the bedroom and then sat him down on the edge of the bed and removed Sam's boots for him. He'd then helped him stand up again and proceeded to strip Sam down to his underwear. He expected Gene to leave him then, but to Sam's surprise he hadn't. Instead Gene had gone down to his knees and fished Sam's cock out of his underpants before engulfing him in his hot mouth, sucking him like he was trying to pull a bowling ball through a straw. Sam hadn't lasted long and as his knees had buckled, Gene had lowered him to the bed and kissed him until he'd drifted off to sleep.

 

“What are _you_ doing here?”

When he heard the voice and opened his eyes she was standing next to the bed. So he'd imagined the blow job from Gene, just like he seemed to be imagining a lot of things. Sam didn't even know he was screaming until the little girl with long blonde hair backed up against the wardrobe, clutching her clown to her chest.

Gene came charging through the door and the girl hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around his legs.

“Uncle Gene—”

“It's all right Brenda.” Gene patted the girl's head. “Go and find your Mum.”

Gene walked over to the bed, where Sam was now backed up against the headboard, clutching a pillow to his chest and whimpering. Gene started to reach a hand out to him and then stuffed it into his trouser pocket instead.

“It's all right Tyler, the scary eight year old girl has gone now.”

“She called you _Uncle Gene._ ”

“Her dad's an old friend. She came by with her Mum. I paid Doris to cook a Christmas dinner for me...”

Sam stopped clutching the pillow. He should have known better. Once he’d started to hope Christmas had strung him up by his baubles.

“I should be leaving then. Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”

“Truth is Sam, I paid her to cook Christmas dinner for _us_.” Gene leaned forward and ran a slow hand down the side of Sam's face. “Then later, while we're still both reasonably sober, we can take up where we left off.”

Gene walked back across the room, turning in the door way.

“Shift your arse Tyler, we're having Turkey in twenty minutes.”

Sam swung his legs out of the bed and spotted his clothes on a chair by the wardrobe. On top of them was a little red stocking. When he found the toy puppy tucked inside of it, he really wasn't in the least bit surprised.

.


End file.
